


Hammers and Other Blunt Objects

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Growing Up, Hammer Throwing, Knife Throwing, Pre-Series, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor can't aim. Loki loses his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hammers and Other Blunt Objects

The problem is threefold.

1) Thor needs to work on his hand-eye coordination in preparation for wielding Mjolnir. He's got the whole "hit thing, explain later" part down pat, but Mjolnir is a flying hammer and that strategy alone would be a complete waste of its potential. Throwing weapons have never been Thor's forte. Thor is a brawler, best at hand to hand out of their age mates. He does not usually think to throw things.

2) Somehow, it is Loki who Thor chooses to spar with to test his progress. This wouldn't be too much of a problem if Thor would keep his calm and Loki was allowed to use seidr. But, no, it is not that simple. Nothing ever is. So, Thor becomes increasingly frustrated as he tries to hit Loki with the training hammer, and Loki sweats more and more as he attempts to dodge.

3) Thor in a temper is quite a sight to see, especially as he comes increasingly into his physical maturity, musculature filling out his finished growth spurt. Odin has ordered him measured for his first adult set of armour. Loki is still prior to his ninth century, all quickly growing gangly limbs and every bit of awkward that comes with it. He outgrows tunics faster than they can go out of style.

With each training session, there are more dents in the heavy walls of the ring, more Thor roaring his frustration to Valhalla and storming off to pummel something or someone else, and more Loki bent double, struggling to fill his lungs with air and smelling like Volstagg's stockings. If this keeps up, they're both going to end up doing something they regret.

Loki needs to come up with a solution to this, fast. For his own dignity, if nothing else.

 

Frigga, as usual with all of Loki's questions and grievances, is the first port of call.

"Have you tried discussing this with Thor?" she asks calmly, book open in her lap as they sit out on her balcony this particularly balmy summer evening.

"Mother, _please_ ," Loki sighs, and he has to admit that her call to move outside was very timely; there is a pleasant breeze coming in from the east. "You know how well Thor listens when he already has made up his mind."

"Mhm," she murmurs, reaching over picking up one of the chocolate-dipped oat biscuits Loki has been eyeing for the past few minutes and handing it to him. "Have you shown him what he is doing wrong?"

Loki rolls his eyes, one hand cupped against his chest to catch the bits of biscuit that escape his bite. "I do not know where to start," he says after swallowing, rotating the biscuit in his right hand and tapping crumbs onto his empty dessert plate. "He doesn't pick a definite point on the target. He throws with all his might and absolutely no gauging for speed or accuracy. He -"

"Your biscuit," Frigga says.

Loki hisses as he realizes he's held it too hard and it's begun to crumble onto his lap. He sets down the pieces and stands up briefly to brush himself off. Frigga leans an elbow on the table, her head tilting slightly as she watches him. Usually, such a gaze would be grating upon Loki's sensibilities, but, from her to him, he knows it is only meant to observe. He rubs his fingers together to get biscuit residue off them before sitting back down.

"You are the best at throwing weapons of your generation," Frigga says as Loki settles back in his chair, her evening robes shifting slightly in the breeze. "Thor has made the right decision to take you as a sparring partner."

"He needs," Loki protests, "a master, not his little brother. Thor has never been keen to take my advice in the ring -"

"But perhaps he is here," Frigga points out, an eyebrow raised. "Your brother is not obtuse when it comes to the realm of combat. He knows where to seek his master."

 

The next morning Loki breaks fast earlier than usual and heads down to the training grounds before the usual horde of trainees. It earns him an odd looks from Týr that Loki pays no heed; he and Týr have never seen eye to eye. 

"What brings you here, my prince?" 

Loki pulls a set of heavy-handled throwing knives from the weapon rack and seats himself at the whetstone, selecting the one with the least worn handle to sharpen. Týr frowns at him, moving so that Loki can clearly see him.

"Those are blunt for a reason," he points out unnecessarily.

Loki smiles, an over-bright expression for his morning paleness. "There is much more imperative to dodge a sharp object," he says, an old lesson that all warriors are taught.

Týr narrows his eyes, searching for the intent to Loki's words, but there is no obvious threat in the recitation of an idiom, especially since Loki never makes true eye contact, and he is forced to eventually move back towards his arriving gaggle of students. Loki takes his time sliding the blade over the stone, the activity a thing of sublime beauty as the dull metal slowly reveals its shine.

A pair of thudding yet light footsteps heralds Thor's arrival in the weapon store, and Loki doesn't bother glancing up as he finishes honing the tip of the blade. 

"I almost didn't believe Týr when he said you were here!" Thor booms, his newly deep voice still a bit of a surprise. "You are usually not so eager to even appear a warrior."

"I had butterflies for breakfast," Loki says, picking up a cloth to wipe the blade down before flipping it in hand to give handle-first to Thor. "A bit of fresh air is best to settle them."

Thor blinks, his face flashing from puzzlement to concern as he takes the blade, holding it as one might a cleaver. "Are you well enough to spar?" he asks, quieter and sincere and undoubtedly thinking of the fainting spells Loki sometimes suffers, especially in the heat of summer. "You know Eir will have my head if -"

Loki scoffs and rolls his eyes, standing back up and brushing off his sparring clothes. "Have you seen the sky? It will surely rain this afternoon," he says, moving towards their private ring, away from the regular chaos of classes and soldier drills. "You will be throwing that knife at me today."

Thor makes a noise of disbelief and he waves it in Loki's line of sight, clearly thinking the summer has finally driven his brother mad. "You would have me throw a _sharpened_ knife -"

"There is much more imperative to dodge a sharp object," Loki singsongs, feeling light and airy and absolutely lovely as they enter the ring.

 

Eir's expression is apoplectic as she slowly draws the knife embedded under Loki's right collarbone out. 

"A little lower, and you would have my lung," Loki assures Thor, even though the effort to speak makes a couple of blood droplets poke up around the steel. "You will learn to aim yet."

"Loki," Thor wails, his face a mess of snot and tears, "that was a horrible trick!"

"If you are going to scream, get out!" Eir roars.

Thor shuts his mouth immediately but continues crying sloppily into the handkerchief that Frigga has pressed upon him. Loki does not know what his mother looks like because she is holding his head steady and at an angle where Loki can see Thor and the western half of the infirmary when his vision isn't spotting too badly.

"You see," Loki explains as he feels Eir draw out about an inch more of the blade, "you must decide if you wish to wound, incapacitate, or kill your target before you throw. That requires different grades of force and even different types of knives -"

"The Allfather will hear of this," Eir snarls, and Loki would roll his eyes if he could feel anything outside the screaming of his now open wound.

"It is a good lesson," Loki reasons, more to Frigga than to Thor, who is clearly crying too much to be listening, and Eir, who has never listened to Loki at all. "Brother, hear me, you are clearly not hopeless -"

"I am going to sedate you," Frigga murmurs gently into Loki's ear, and then there is nothing more.

 

Whether or not Eir ever made good of her threat to report the excellent wounding of the second prince by the first is never known, so Loki suspects it was simply Eir speaking in her temper as usual. Loki is put onto bed rest for a full two days and then confined to convalesce in his quarters for five, which drives him positively mad. There is nothing that Loki hates more than being cooped up with nothing interesting to do.

"Even I can only read so many books," Loki gripes, almost vibrating with pent up energy as Thor sets a new stack down by Loki's overflowing desk. "I am well enough to walk -"

Thor rolls his eyes skyward, smelling of sweat and dirt, clearly just come from the training grounds. "You cannot be trusted -"

"Ah," Loki says, wagging a finger at Thor as he eases himself off his bed to inspect what shelf of the library Thor has randomly brought him, "some would say you have hit the nail on the head."

Thor sighs mightily, like all his actions far too big for a single room. Loki lowers himself carefully to sit on the ground, reaching up with his left hand to take the first book from the stack. Thor flops down onto the rug next to him, large, callused hands resting in his lap. It is a familiar scene, one that Loki has more memories of than anything else.

"Why did you make me use the knife?" Thor asks, and there's a bruised part to his tone. "You knew I would throw too hard."

Loki smooths open the book in his lap, the pages giving up a puff of dust. "You were becoming disheartened," he says to the first sonnet, brushing his finger over the old crease made by someone dog-earring the page. "Hammers and other blunt objects do not always show the damage they do."

Next to him, his brother shifts, stretching out on the thick bear hide of the carpet to tuck his chin up on his forearms. Loki glances over, and Thor stares up at him, blue and golden on dark brown.

"You are growing so fast," Thor says, soft and like he once was when they were babes in the nursery. "Sometimes, I do not know where we stand."

Loki rolls his eyes and smiles, reaching out and resting his hand against Thor's hair. The book in his lap tilts and shifts, sliding to the rug as Loki lies down beside his brother. Thor smiles, broad and huge and bright, and twines their fingers together.

"I am here," Loki whispers. "Always."


End file.
